Party Princess

But that doesn’t mean I’m not a party girl.

Anyway, in addition to having met every single celebrity in the world except David Mamet, J.P. has been to every single play ever put on, including—and I couldn’t believe this—Beauty and the Beast.

And get this: It’s one of his all-time favorites, too.

I can’t believe that for all this time, I’ve been seeing him as the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili—you know, just this freak in the cafeteria—when underneath he’s, like, this really cool, funny guy who writes poems about Principal Gupta and likes Beauty and the Beast and would like to meet David Mamet (whoever that is).

But I guess that’s just a reflection of how the educational system today, being so overcrowded and impersonal, makes it so hard for adolescents to break through our preconceived notions of one another, and get to know the real person underneath the label they’re given, be it Princess, Brainiac, Drama Geek, Jock, Cheerleader, or Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili.

Oops. Chorus rehearsal is over. Grandmère’s calling for the principal characters now.

Which means J.P and me. We sure have a lot of scenes together. Especially seeing as how up until I read Braid!, I never even knew my ancestress Rosagunde HAD a boyfriend.

Saturday, March 6, 6 p.m., limo on the way home from the Plaza

Oh my God, I’m soooo tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. Acting is SO HARD. Who knew? I mean, those kids on Degrassi make it look so easy. But they’re going to school and everything the whole time they’re filming that show. How do they DO it?

Of course, they don’t have to sing, except for those episodes where there’s like a band audition or whatever. Singing is even harder than ACTING, it turns out. And I thought that was the thing I’d have the least trouble with, because of my intensive self-training in the event I have to perform karaoke on a road trip to make food money like Britney in Crossroads.

Well, let me just say that I have a newfound respect for Kelis because to get that one perfect version of “Milkshake” on her album, she had to have rehearsed it five thousand times. Madame Puissant made me rehearse “Rosagunde’s Song” at LEAST that many times.

And when my voice started to get scratchy and I couldn’t hit the high notes, she made me grab the bottom of the baby grand piano Phil was accompanying me on, and LIFT!

“Sing from the diaphragm, Princess,” was what Madame Puissant kept yelling. “No breathing from the chest. From the DIAPHRAGM! No chest voice! SING FROM THE DIAPHRAGM! LIFT!!! LIFT!!!!”

I was just glad I’d put clear polish on all my nails the other day (so I’d be less tempted to bite them). At least she couldn’t yell at me about THAT.

And choreography? Forget about it. Some people look down on cheerleaders (okay, me included, except for Shameeka—up until now), but that stuff is HARD!!! Remembering all those steps??? Oh my God! It’s like, “Take my chi already, Feather! I can’t step-ball-change anymore!”

But Feather didn’t have the least bit of sympathy for me—and she had even LESS for Kenny, who can’t step-ball-change to save his life.

And guess what? We’re all expected to show up at ten tomorrow morning for more of the same.

Boris said tonight, as we were all leaving, “This is the hardest I have ever had to work for a hundred extra credit points.”

Which is a totally good point. But, as Ling Su mentioned to him, it beats selling candles door-to-door.

After which I had to shush her, because Amber Cheeseman had been standing nearby!

Except of course J.P. overheard me shushing Ling Su, and was like, “What? What’s the big secret? What are you guys talking about? You can tell me, I swear I’ll take it to the grave.”

The thing is, when you are thrown together for so many hours, the way we’ve all been since rehearsals started, you sort of… bond. I mean, you can’t help it. You’re just in each other’s company SO MUCH. Even Lilly, who has markedly antisocial tendencies, yelled, as we were all putting on our coats, “Hey, you guys, I almost forgot! Party tonight at my place! You should totally come, my parents are out of town!”

Which I thought was kind of bold of her—it’s Michael’s party, really, not hers, and I don’t know how thrilled he’ll be if a bunch of high school kids show up (besides me, of course).

But, you know. It’s an example of how close we all feel to one another.

And also why I felt forced to tell J.P. the truth—that the student government had run a little short on cash to pay for the seniors’ commencement ceremony, and that was why we were putting on Braid! in the first place.

J.P. seemed surprised to hear this—but not, as I first thought, because he was shocked to learn I’d messed up the budget.

“Really?” he said. “And here I was thinking that this whole thing was just an elaborate ruse by your grandmother to sucker my dad into giving up his bid on the faux island of Genovia.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open until he laughed and said, “Mia, don’t worry. I won’t tell. About the money for commencement OR your grandmother’s scheme.”

But then I got all curious, and was like, “Why does your dad want to buy the faux island of Genovia, anyway, J.P.?”

“Because he can,” J.P. said, not looking jokey at all—which, for him, was a first. He almost never seems to look upset or worried about anything—except corn, of course.